Free Murderers Anonymous by Douglas Lindsay Page A

and Morty Goldman, and the two showmen up front, Socrates McCartney and Arnie Medlock.
    The men were jostling for position. They were going away for a weekend where there would be three women to eight men. An ugly imbalance to please no one – except the women – so tough times lay ahead. It was early days and there would be much work to be done once the weekend started, but now was the time for points-scoring and unobtrusive denunciation of the opposition.
    As ever the great topics of the day had been discussed as the evening had gone on. Should the Old Firm apply to join the English Premiership or a North Atlantic league and leave the rest to get on with it; was Edward G. Robinson a woman; global warming, myth or nightmare; cornflakes, mundane drudgery or breakfast cereal to die for; the Sixth Commandment, and did God really mean it to be interpreted the way it has been; was Richard II really a poof; milk or plain chocolate; Jim Bett, mug or magician?
    Galbraith had something to say to Katie Dillinger; uneasy about saying it, because there was not a lot of truth in what he would say. And they all knew that Dillinger could tell a lie from a long way off.
    The truth was, he had better things to do with his weekend than spend it with this mob. And Dillinger might just have been expecting him to make a move on her and bring some competitive element to her yearly rendezvous with Arnie Medlock. Delicacy would be required, and he had pressures from Sophie Delaux to consider. And all sorts of other issues.
    First of all he had to disengage himself from the dull Bobby Dear.
    'People who take one sugar,' Dear was saying, 'are poofs. That's what we used to say in the army. No sugar is fine, that's a definite statement. Five or six sugars, that's a definite statement. But one or two sugars. Absolute shite. Wishy-washy, can't make up their minds. Shite, I say.'
    'Sorry, mate,' said The Hammer Galbraith, 'got to have a word with Katie, you know. Be back with you in a second,' he added, a monstrous lie. I'd die rather than come and talk to you again , might have been nearer the truth. Bobby Dear nodded, didn't really understand.
    Galbraith made his way around the table, clutching his seventh pint of heavy. Thought processes were still working smoothly, but there was always the possibility of a breakdown between brain and mouth. Stopped to listen for a second to Socrates, who had moved back down the wing, and was chatting to Ellie Winters. Giving her the usual line. Same old, same old.
    'So what do you do, if you're not a philosopher or a footballer, then?' asked Winters. Hoping that this would induce the reciprocal question, for she loved to tell people how she made her living. Socrates took a swig from his pint, then dug into his inside coat pocket and produced a card. Handed it over with a roguish smile.

    Spider-Be-Gone Inc.
    Socrates McCartney
    for all your spider removal needs
    ____________________________________
    Also: Unwanted pests, bugs, vermin & snakes
    24 hr service
    Tel.: 0898 985 7898
    email: [email protected]

    Winters looked quizzically at him. A smile came to her lips, for she was sharp as a button and could already see the potential.
    'You remove spiders?'
    'Aye.'
    'From where?'
    Socrates shrugged. He knew he was cool.
    'From wherever spiders get to. Which is pretty much everywhere really.'
    'So, like if somebody's got a spider in their bath, they call you up, and you go and remove it?' she asked, still a little incredulous that such a service existed.
    'Aye. I get five or six calls a day and at least one of them's a bath. I turn up, put the spider into a wee carton, take it outside and release it, and I'm on my way.'
    She shook her head. 'And how much do you charge for that?'
    'Ten pound call-out. Then a fiver for the first spider, and three quid thereafter. Special discounts for big jobs like garden sheds and attics.'
    Ellie Winters was beginning to find Socrates McCartney attractive. Despite his nose. And despite